Limbs and Lust
by LoveRAGS
Summary: Seth gets In a fight and breaks his arm. Slash SethRyan. Broken down into Point Of View. First OC fiction!


**Title:** Limbs and Lust  
**Author:** travispender  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** Seth gets In a fight and breaks his arm. Slash Seth/Ryan. Broken down into Point Of View. First OC fiction of mine!  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own The O.C. or any of the characters that are portrayed within it.  
**BETA:** shakespearebint

1. Seth

The ringing in the back of my head is just a side effect compared to the rage that I'm feeling right now. Yes, I blacked out. Yes, he was much too strong for me to fight. Yes, it was a stupid thing to do and now I have to pay the price, but hot damn! I did it to stand up for myself. I did it so I could feel what it was like to be on the topside, to be a winner, to feel victory in the palm of my hand. Yes, it was a very stupid mistake.

Now I sit in the north wing of The Orange County Hospital, as some slutty half-wit nurse with too much of a package to conceal herself, attempts to sew me up. Normally I would sneak a peak down the front end of her scrubs, but not tonight. I'm feeling much too strange. I've felt this way for a while now. Oh who am I kidding, not just a while. Months. Ever since Kid Chino saved the day.

"Welcome to The OC, bitch," was Luke's drunken commentary the night my secret lusting began. The OC, bitch. What a lame excuse for living. But Ryan still punched the fuck out of him. He still made his lip bleed. And from that night I haven't looked at a girl without my thoughts drifting back to him. What the hell is this? Am I still Seth Cohen, or am I suddenly a gay-manipulate stuck in his body? Why can't I get him out of my head?

"Uh, excuse me, are you okay?" the blonde slut asks me. I look down at her for once, self conscious of the blood on my face. He had gotten me pretty bad.

"Oh, um, what?" I ask her, wondering if she is about to pounce on me and let a secret web-cam in the corner capture some late night hospital-action.

"Well you've been moving your lips like you're talking for about five minutes now, and I was wondering if you wanted me to call Trauma or something?"

"No. I'm fine." Stupid bitch. I just had my arm almost broken in two by a water polo player twice my size. I'm allowed to be a little, damn shaken up! I shake my head slightly, showing off my frustration to the room. I catch my reflection in the mirror. My eye has swollen black and blood is still dripping from where the class ring has torn my cheek. It is mostly just the left side of my face. Like I'm some disheveled super hero. Half invincible, half-destruction. I wonder what Ryan will say when he sees.

And there I go again. Back to Ryan. It's always back to Ryan. I can't keep my thoughts away from him. And when I'm around him, Holy-Moses-Santa Clause. All I want to do is run my hands through, what seems, perfect golden hair and have him hypnotize me with his own blue eyes. But I know I can't. It would only result in an awkward moment where he would step back and look at me like I'm on a load of dope.

So I cover it up every time. Summer. Yes, the perfect cover up to my scheme of lust. Whenever I feel the need to move closer or say something that would end our friendship, I talk about Summer. "Should I tell her about Tahiti?" "I have another plan to get Summer." Summer this, Summer that. And he took the bait. He has no idea what's going on under this mop-top of mine. And I'm starting to wonder if he ever will.

"All done," the slut says with a hint of giddy pride. She pulls my arm into a sling and smiles brightly. I make no attempt to match her polite expression. All I do is rise from my spot on the bench and head for the door. Stupid, stupid bitch. "Have a good night!" she calls out as I open it. She never gives up, does she? As I walk out into the hall, Ryan and my mother rise from their seats and come to greet me. Their faces say it all. I look like shit.

2. Sandy

Thank God for bagels. If it weren't for these pieces of heaven, my life would be pure hell. It's the first thing I think of when I walk through the door, this lovely morning. I need a bagel. It was a late night at the office, and even though that's no excuse for Kirsten, there are no worries; I have a bagel waiting. I walk into the kitchen and find that it is littered with wrappers that read 'Wonton Palace' on them.

"Take-out. Again." I sigh, pulling the bagel from it‚s plastic concealment. They've been doing that lately. Not that I blame the boys at all. Kirsten isn't the best of all cooks under the sun. But still, this is unhealthy! I grumble under my breath as I cut the bread in two and break it apart. They know how to cook for themselves; I know they do. I've seen it. My wife's cooking really is no excuse.

The footsteps on the staircase are more clear than ever. I have a way of sensing who it is. Seth usually approaches with light and quiet strides that barely make it to a step for one moment before they're at another. Kirsten's steps however, are loud and thump with early morning frustration. These ones however, they are new to the morning staircase. I look up to greet my surprise.

"Ryan," I say, a little taken aback. "Good morning."


End file.
